Promiscuous (9 page)

“You okay there, Beth?” he murmured, his eyes laughing at me.

Was I okay?

No. I wasn’t. I had an insanely sexy older man pressed so close against me I was sure he could feel the heat bursting from between my legs. God, what he did to me . . . Or, rather, what I
wished
he’d do to me. I threw back the last of my drink.

“I doubt it would make a difference if I did own the place,” I retorted smugly, forcing our conversation back on track. “What do you want from me, Roman? I’m too tired to play your games tonight.” I rubbed my temples, trying to will away the pressure building behind my eyes.

“Hey, I’m just a guy out on the town. It’s not my fault we both have very expensive tastes.” Ah, why was he looking at me like that? And why was my body reacting this way? “We’re very similar, you and I,” he continued, his fingers stroking the top of my leg. “We’re both used to getting what we want.”

“And yet we don’t seem to want the same things,” I retorted, annoyed. “Make yourself useful and buy me a drink.”

He narrowed his eyes at me and smiled, reaching for my glass. I held my breath as he moved slowly past me, and down to the other end of the bar. As soon as he was gone, I heaved a sigh of relief.

What was it with this guy? Everything about him affected me, and God, that attraction, it was so strong. And then I’d remember him turning me down at my house and feel sick. And embarrassed. Oh, so embarrassed.

What the fuck was so wrong with me that I had no luck whatsoever with men? Sure, I could find plenty of guys who’d love to fuck me, but a relationship? It was like I was doomed.

Roman was back soon, a vodka-and-cranberry and a glass of straight whiskey balanced in one hand. He remembered what I like. I fought to keep a grin from taking over my lips.

Calm down, Beth. So he remembered what you like to drink. Not a big deal.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, taking it from him. He smiled, and took the vacant seat next to me. “So, it’s a total coincidence seeing you here, huh?” I didn’t know why, but I felt suspicious. There were a million bars around here he could’ve gone to, and he happened to walk into mine?

“Guess so.” He raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his whiskey. “You don’t get sick of this?” he asked, rolling his glass between the palms of his hands.

“Sick of what?” I knew what he meant. Of course I was sick of it, but I was sick of everything. What else was I going to do? Sit at home with my imaginary friends and play charades?

“This. The partying. Being out every night.”

I turned to him, a sudden rush of anger seeping through me. This guy had known me all of a week, and suddenly he was an expert on my life?

“You’ve met me three times, Roman. I don’t think that gives you the right to make comments on my lifestyle. What business is it of yours what I do?” My voice was harsh.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it. Nodding, he shrugged, his expression softening. “You’re right. What you do with your life is not my problem. I’m here to drink, not to babysit.”

“Babysit? I didn’t ask you to be my fucking babysitter, Roman. Isn’t there somewhere else you can go?” I retorted, frustrated.

He smirked at me, and took a sip of his drink.

Fuck this.

I stood up and grabbed my purse. Without a glance back, I stormed out the side exit and into a deserted alleyway. Goosebumps prickled the skin on the back of my arms as I stared into the darkness. My breathing began to shallow.

“Beth, wait!”

I sighed with relief as the door opened and Roman’s voice echoed through the night. I wiped under my eyes and turned around.

“Let me take you home,” he offered. I shook my head viciously.

 “I don’t
need
you to take me home, Roman. I need you to stop messing with my head.”

“I’m sorry you think that’s what I’m doing, Beth,” he said quietly.

Gah! Now he had me feeling bad for snapping at him. “Look, I like you, but I can’t handle not knowing what the hell you want with me. One minute we’re friends, then I think there could be more, then a second later I feel like I don’t know you at all . . . which is funny because I
don’t
.” I took a breath, calming myself down from the tangle he was working me into.

He took a step toward me. “I’d like to change that, Beth.” His voice was low and gravelly.

“Why are you here, Roman? Why do you even care?” I pleaded.

“Because I see a girl who is crying out for help. This?” He waved his arms around. “This isn’t you.”

“You barely know me,” I muttered.

He leaned over and stoked my cheek. “I know enough,” he whispered.

“Fine,” I grumbled, my heart melting. “Take me home.”

Chapter Eleven

Roman

She was quiet on the drive home, barely saying a word. I snuck glances at her, wondering what she was thinking. Her head rested back against the seat as she gazed out the window, lost in her own world.

My eyes wandered over her bare legs.
God, those smooth silky thighs. What I wouldn’t give to be between them…

“Watch it!” Beth screamed, clutching hold of the seat. I swerved, regaining control of the car, which had began to drift sideways toward a tree. My heart pounded as she glared at me accusingly.

“Sorry,” I muttered. I wanted to add that it was her fault for being so damn sexy.

“How much did you have to drink?” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Less than you, that’s for sure. Settle down, Princess, I’ll get you home in one piece.” I shook my head as she glared at me.

I was becoming obsessed with finding out her secrets. How did this beautiful creature harbor so much pain? She hid it well, but for someone who had known her for a long time—at least, from a distance—it wasn’t hard to see.

“Where’s your head?” I asked.

She jumped at the sound of my voice and turned to me. “Right here,” she said, pointing upward. I rolled my eyes at her joke, but still cracked a smile. “I’m just tired.” She sighed softly and went back to staring blankly into the distance. Tired of what? I wanted to ask. But I didn’t. I was pushing her as it was. If I pushed much harder, she would shut right down on me.

***

She walked ahead of me, allowing me to admire her ass. That damn dress drove me crazy. It was so fucking short it barely covered her ass. I so badly wanted to grab hold of her, and feel her up against me.

There was no denying to myself why I was going inside. I could paint it however I wanted; it wouldn’t change the fact that, given the chance, I’d be fucking her senseless tonight. All I needed was a suggestion from her, a hint that she wanted it, and there would be no holding me back. That was how I did things, right? Act first and deal with the ramifications later? Why change my pattern now?

Letting the door swing open, she stood back to let me through first. I smiled at her, then walked inside.

She flicked the light switch, and the hallway lit up. The place was as nice as I remembered. It would have cost her a fortune. She was on the top of the hill in one of the most sought-after neighborhoods in Manhattan, overlooking the beach. Just the living area was about the size of my entire house—and my house was by no means small. The dark floorboards were perfectly polished, and the furniture looked as though it had never been used.

She headed off toward the kitchen, and I followed her, my eyes back on her ass.

“Drink?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.
Fuck.
I averted my eyes. Too late. She smirked at me.

“A coffee would be good,” I mumbled, cursing to myself.

The kitchen opened out to a large balcony that overlooked Mason’s Point. At this time of night, I could just make out the outline of the surrounding hills and the scattered lights in the distance. Sliding the door open, I walked outside, the mild breeze nice against my skin.

“Here you go.”

I turned to see Beth holding two mugs of coffee, steam lifting from each.

“Thanks,” I said, taking one. I turned my attention back to the view. “It’s really beautiful out here. It must be a great place to unwind.”

She moved closer to me, until we both stood against the glass wall of the balcony. “It is,” she admitted softly. “It’s great place to think. I used to always sit out here and write my songs.”

“Not anymore?” I asked carefully. Every other time I’d tried to have her open up she had closed off so quickly.

She shook her head and sighed. “I haven’t written anything in ages,” she said. God, I wished I could take away that fear in her voice. What had her so damn afraid? “It’s like my creativity stopped when—” She stopped abruptly, and wandered back over to the lounge chairs.

“When what?” I pressed, sitting down beside her.

She flushed. “Nothing.” I watched her as she set her mug down on the concrete floor. She sat on the lounge chair, knees bent, one leg on either side, her bare feet on the ground. I hadn’t even realized she’d taken off her shoes.

Setting my own drink down, I stood up and sat down on her chair, facing her. Her eyes widened as she wondered what I was doing. She laughed as I reached for her foot, planting it in front of me.

“God, yes,” she mumbled, throwing her head back as I gently began to rub. “Oh hell, that feels good.”

“Do you like what you do?” I asked as my fingers worked the kinks in her foot.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I’m smart enough to understand that I need to make a living. How many people actually enjoy what they do?” She shrugged, as if she had nothing else to say.

“I think people who are unhappy in their chosen career use that as an excuse not to move on.”

“Maybe,” she agreed, “but what else am I going to do? This is all I’ve been for five years. Before that, I was just a kid.

“Besides, I’m independent. I don’t have to worry about money, and I’ve got a lifestyle most people only dream of.”

“You’re also lonely and unhappy.”

“Really?” she said, cocking her head. “And tell me, Mr. Big Shot, what do you propose I do? Quit my job and knit sweaters for cats?”

“Do you have a cat?” I asked, running my hand over her calf. I couldn’t remember seeing one.

“No,” she grumbled. “I’m allergic.” I laughed and continued to let my fingers explore her smooth skin, going as high as her thighs before running back down her legs. “That feels . . . really fucking good.” She breathed out, a little moan escaping from her lips.

Fuck, she was so sexy. She had no idea what she was doing to me right then with her hair all messed up, wearing that fucking tiny dress. I swallowed hard, my eyes on her stiff nipples, which I could make out through her dress.

Swinging her armchair around until she was facing me, I continued to rub her feet, working my hands along her arches. I watched her lie before me, every so often biting her lip, and I struggled to focus. The way her dress was creeping up and exposing her tanned skin was making me hard.

She stretched out her toes, her heel digging into my crotch. A smile crept onto my lips as her eyes fluttered open and met mine when her foot made contact with my hard cock.

“What?” I asked her.

She shrugged, pulling her foot away, tucking it under her. “Nothing,” she blushed.

“You’re incredibly sexy, Beth. Of course touching you is going to arouse me.”

“If touching my feet excites you, I can only imagine what touching other parts of me would do to you.” She stood up and stepped over my legs until she was kneeling over me. I glanced up at her, my hand positioned on her thigh. She smiled, a contradiction to the pain hiding in her eyes. I studied her for a moment, my brow creasing as I tried to figure her out.

But it was impossible.
She
was impossible. And drunk. Not so drunk that she had no control over her behavior, but definitely drunk enough to mask whatever it was she was trying to block out.

My jaw tensed as her body fell against mine, that sexy blonde hair falling around her face. I reached up and tucked some loose strands behind her ear where they stayed momentarily before escaping again, cascading around her eyes. She smiled as she brought her mouth down onto mine, her lips feeling electric against me.

I kissed her back. No matter how badly I wanted to push her away, I wanted her more. Was I an asshole for doing this? She was drunk and I was not, but holy fuck, all I could think about was being inside of her.

I sat up, my arm curving around the arch of her back as we continued to kiss, our mouths melting into each other. I tasted her as my tongue massaged hers. She cried out, laughing, as I flipped her onto her back, positioning myself over her. I stared down at the beautiful sight before me.

She was fucking amazing. Starting at the top of her foot, my fingers ran over her soft skin. She gasped as they reached her thighs, which were exposed by her dress. I eased myself between her legs, my erection pressed urgently against the constriction of my pants.

I groaned as she lowered my zipper and reached inside of my boxers. Her fingers closed around my girth as I attempted to shrug off my pants. Sounds escaped from me as she ran her fingers up and down my cock.

I watched as she reached for her dress, slipping it over her head and letting it fall over her breasts, then her stomach, before finally slipping off her hips. A familiar aching began to stir in my groin. I wanted her so fucking bad. Nothing would've satisfied me more than spreading her over that kitchen counter inside and taking her. I wanted to make her feel things she'd never felt before. I wanted to make her scream, I wanted to make her orgasm over and over until she couldn't handle it.

She knelt down in front of me, her hand resting on my chest. Her other hand curled around the base of my cock. Holy fuck, what was she doing to me? She took me in her mouth, her tongue running along the base of my shaft. Fuck, this girl knew what she was doing. I ran my hands through her hair, latching on to a handful as I pushed myself further inside her mouth.

"God, yeah." I moved further down the lounge chair so I could spread my legs further apart, giving her better access. I glanced down, my eyes on her as she worked those sweet, soft lips up and down. Watching her was just as much of a turn on as feeling her.